


Words of Advice and Comfort

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Brotherly feels, Gen, M/M, Mild Angst, Past Drug Use, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 15:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5339735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt:</p><p>Years ago Mycroft still remembers the day when Sherlock came to him in tears, needing his advice and comfort.<br/>That was a long time ago and Sherlock would never do that again, or so he thought until Sherlock suddenly approaches him one day, not in tears but in need of his brother. For advice? Comfort? Both?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words of Advice and Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译】Words of Advice and Comfort](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6710737) by [HailTheTranslationParty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HailTheTranslationParty/pseuds/HailTheTranslationParty)



“What do I do now Myc?” Sherlock's voice was small. A lot smaller than normal.

“Sherlock? What are you doing here?” Mycroft asked as he found his baby brother in his office. He should have got security to check really, but it was - he glanced at the clock - 3 in the morning and he had a feeling it would be Sherlock when he'd heard the door open, not some risky burglar.

“How did you and Lestrade get so close?”

Mycroft suppressed a smile. “So this is about John.”

“I didn't say that,” Sherlock refuted with far too much vehemence.

“Really, baby brother, you didn't have to.” He finally let himself smile, but it was tired and thin. “What happened?”

Sherlock looked up at him as he moved across the room to stand beside the chair the younger man had collapsed into. The detective shook his head and his chin fell forward to his chest. Instinctively Mycroft moved forward and his arms wrapped around Sherlock's thin frame. Sherlock didn't sob, he didn't even sniffle, but for the briefest of moments, his hands came up and his fingers dug into his brother's shoulders. The moment passed quickly, then he shoved Mycroft off and looked away, embarrassed. “Nothing happened.” He let out a shaky sigh. “That's the problem.”

“What is John doing now?”

“He went out for a walk.”

“At 3 o'clock in the morning.”

Sherlock looked away again.

“What did you do, Sherlock?” Mycroft's voice had a ring of warning in it.”

“Got into bed with him.”

“You did what?!” Mycroft collapsed into his own chair and shook his head in disbelief.

The younger Holmes curled up defensively, his knees held tight to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. “I thought that's what people did when there was a mutual attraction.”

Mycroft gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. “Yes,” he drew the word out, “but there are normally a few preliminaries first.”

“Why? Talking's boring. John couldn't say anything to me that I didn't already know from one glance.”

“About 10 years ago, I thought the same. Emotions are different, Sherlock, and our experience with them is up and down to say the least.”

“You don't need emotions to deduce.”

“No, you don't, Sherlock, but you still have them, loath as you are to admit it. If you didn't, you wouldn't be here asking for my help.”

Sherlock scowled at the floor.

“And,” Mycroft continued, “You wouldn't have got into his bed in the first place.” He leaned back and tapped his finger absently against the top of his desk. “John and Greg aren't like us. They need conversation. They need to talk through these things.”

“But why, Mycie? I can't bear to sit and watch John like he means nothing more than a flatmate to me. I've tried, I've really tried. And now he hates me more than ever.”

“I know it's early, but do you want me to phone Gregory? He no doubt knows where John's gone.”

Sherlock swallowed with some difficulty, then nodded. “I want to know he's safe.”

Mycroft was surprised by such a mature answer from his baby brother.

Greg answered on the second ring. “I thought I'd be hearing from you about now. John's fine. We're talking over the worst cups of coffee ever made - you know that coffee shop down from the Yard.”

“Good, I'll let Sherlock know he's safe.”

“Tell him, it'll be fine, yeah?” Greg's next words sounded muffled, as if he were shielding the phone with his hand. “It won't be hard to talk him around. He was mostly just surprised. Thought His Nibs was either taking the piss or experimenting. Love you.”

“Likewise,” came Mycroft's smiling reply, then he rang off.

“Apparently John believes you were experimenting.”

“You know where he is?” He stood up. “Where?”

“I don't think that's a great idea, Sherlock, John walked out to get away from you, just give him a while to calm down.”

“Where is he, Mycroft?!”

“Sherlock! Sit down.”

The detective's knees buckled. “Please, Mycroft.”

“Oh little brother, you did more than just get in his bed, didn't you?”

Sherlock nodded and this time he did sniff, as if he was holding back some emotion that he daren't let surface. “I kissed him.”

“Mmm.”

“He kissed back, then he... I don't know. That's when he left.” Sherlock looked so small and confused.

“Wouldn't you be a bit confused and annoyed if you were fast asleep, woke up, saw John next to you and then when you weren't fully with it, he kissed you?”

“That's what I would want.”

“Be that as it may, you hadn't discussed it with John.”

“Fine,” Sherlock spat, “I should have talked to him. Now what?”

“You still need to talk to him. After he cools down. Tell him how you feel.”

“There you go with feelings again.”

“Yes. Feelings. Then ask him how he feels about you.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, he already knew how John felt about him.

“Yes, you already know, but give him a chance to tell you.”

Sherlock stood up again, kicked the chair back that he had been sat on, it rocked for a moment before crashing to the floor. He stormed out of the room his coat flailing dramatically behind him. He knew Mycroft would follow, what he didn't know was whether that was what he wanted or not. Still, Sherlock fled, just slow enough for Mycroft to catch him up on the pathway outside. His brother lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and passed it over to him. Sherlock took it without comment.

The elder Holmes continued as if they hadn't been interrupted by a tantrum, “If he tells you he doesn't feel the same way about you, then back off. Give him time to adjust to the idea.”

“Why would he say that?”

“Because he's not gay, remember?”

“That's bollocks, you know it as well as I do.”

“You've got to consider the possibility, Sherlock.” He held his hand out for the cigarette, but Sherlock wasn't planning on giving it back. Mycroft sighed and lit up his own.

“You didn’t consider the possibility with Greg.”

“I didn't need to.”

Sherlock gave him a sharp, disapproving look. “You didn't run one, not on Greg.”

Mycroft took another drag. “No, actually, I didn't, but Anthea ran a background investigation. It revealed a couple of interesting sexual encounters in his early twenties. She seemed to think I would want to know.” He pulled a face. “You can't use it as blackmail material against me, Sherlock. I explained about the investigation to Greg. He took it in his stride.”

For the first time that early morning, Sherlock smiled. “By which, you mean he didn't speak to you for a month for snooping on him. I wondered why, at the time. John stayed at Sarah's a lot that month. I may have put my foot in it somewhat.”

Mycroft smiled, “And yet he always comes back.”

“But for how long? How much longer will I piss him off? Forever,” he answered his own question. “But he can't put up with that forever.” Sherlock started walking aimlessly, needing to dissipate his restless energy.

“I think you'll be surprised, there. John is an incredibly patient man. Even if your relationship doesn't go the way you want, he'll always be there for you.”

“I'm not so sure that would be a good thing. Having him near, but not having him would drive me mad.”

Mycroft's mobile pinged. He glanced at it and smiled.

_John’s headed back to Baker Street. He's made his decision. It's all fine._

“I don't think you have to worry about that, Sherlock.”

“Yeah, well…” he handed his brother the stub of his cigarette and took off at a pace he knew the British Government couldn't keep up with.

Away from Baker Street.

Mycroft swore. He had tried, he really had, but his brother never made things easy. It would have been a mistake to tell him about the doctor's decision outright. Mycroft knew that, if Sherlock was going to make this work, his brother would have to learn to talk to John. He pulled his phone from his pocket and read the text.

_Where are you?_

Greg replied instantly. _On the way home from dropping John off. Do you want me to swing by?_

_Yes. We need to find my brother._

_You lost him!_

_He knows I detest leg work. He could just imagine Greg's laugh at that. We need to find him and drag him back to Baker Street. Kicking and screaming if need be._

_On my way._

When Greg pulled up, the government official climbed into the car. “Where to, then, Mycroft?” the DI asked as he pulled out into the early morning traffic.

Mycroft looked out the window. “We had best start with his old haunts.”

“Damn. That bad?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“You didn't tell him, then?”

“It wasn't really my place, was it?”

“Well, it was if he's gone back to using again.”

“This isn't my fault, Gregory. He's too daft to listen.”

Greg's hand reached over and squeezed his thigh. “I know, Babe. I'm sorry.”

“Let's just find him.”

That task proved to be easier than either man had expected. They found Sherlock pacing along the pathway at the second place they checked. His hair was wild from where he had been running his fingers through it and he looked slightly manic. For a moment, both men feared the worst, but Sherlock seemed far too alert to be high.

Mycroft sagged with relief. Greg uttered a tight, “Thank God.”

Except when Sherlock was involved, it couldn't be that easy. As soon as he spotted the DI's car. He took off down an alley, away from his nearest haunt at least.

Greg had the door open before Sherlock had taken off. Mycroft climbed over the arm rest in between the seats. “I'll go around and cut him off.”

Greg nodded once and chased after his lover's brother. Greg caught Sherlock yards before the next street, he clenched his fist around his coat but the detective struggled.

“Sherlock! Sherlock stop!”

“Piss off! Greg, let me go!”

“Don't make this any harder Sherlock.”

“Fuck. Off!”

The DI sighed and used his police training to his advantage. He threw the younger man into the wall with caution and held him there with one arm up his back and one at the nape of his neck. “Calm down!” Greg barked. Sherlock actually flinched and fell still; surprising the DI.

The car pulled up and Mycroft climbed out. The older Holmes knew better than to ask Greg to let his brother go just yet. The apparent surrender was likely an act, so an understanding had to be reached first. “If you promise not to hare off and to listen to me, Greg will let you go.”

“Why don't you just let me go and leave me alone? This is why I never come to you, Mycroft!”

Greg pulled him away from the wall, but didn't change his grip.

Mycroft raised his hands to either side of Sherlock's head. “Sherlock, listen to me!”

The detective actually showed his teeth in a snarl; they were doing nothing to quell his anger.

“I shouldn't be telling you this, but you give me no choice, you never do.” Mycroft ground his teeth in frustration. “John is back at Baker Street, right now, wanting to tell you that he loves you, but he can't. Instead, he's most likely worried sick about you and pacing the flat.”

Sherlock went completely still. “You can't know that.”

“Well, I can,” Greg interjected. “That's what he told me he was going to do.”

Sherlock fell forward, sagging in the DI's grip.

“Let him go,” Mycroft ordered. The detective's shoulders were slouched as Greg released him. “Now are you willing to act like a civilised human and come to Baker Street with us?”

He nodded and then did something Mycroft didn't see coming. He cannoned into him at speed and grabbed him in a hug. Mycroft returned the hug, though he felt awkward doing it in front of Greg - a fact the DI would find laughable. “Okay. Alright. Let's get you home.”

Except Sherlock didn't let him go.

“I'll um… wait in the car,” Greg muttered awkwardly, he had some material to use on his lover in the very near future but for now he'd leave the brothers to it.

Sherlock hadn't felt this strange warm feeling towards his brother in years, not since the day Mycroft had brought Redbeard home as a gift. John wasn't a dog and he certainly wasn't a gift, he was Sherlock's very heart.


End file.
